


Do-Over

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2018 [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Future, Sharing a Bed, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 22:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Written for Nygmobblepot WeekDay 2: Sharing a BedOswald is close to his revenge on Sofia Falcone. What will he sacrifice to get it? Or rather... who?





	Do-Over

**Author's Note:**

> A little glimpse into a possible future, maybe.

Tomorrow they make their move against Sofia. Tomorrow, Oswald has his revenge. But tonight, right now, he needs to speak with Lee Thompkins. This is how he overhears a conversation he was not meant to. 

“You don’t know him like I do,” Edward says, a pleading edge to his tone. 

“I’ve made my decision,” Lee tells him. Someone sighs dramatically, probably Edward.

“Let me guess, you think he’s on your side? You think that if you help Oswald, he’ll help you, right? Well you’re _wrong_ , Lee. Oswald never helps _anyone_. He only uses people. And when he’s done using you, he’ll take everything that you have, everyone you hold dear, and _stab you in the back_.” Footsteps, a door slamming, a softer sigh. Lee, then. Edward always was one for dramatic exits, for getting the last word. 

His heart twists. Is this what Edward really thinks of him? Of _course_ it is. Oswald had taken his love, his chance at _normalcy_ (whatever that might mean), his freedom, even his mind, for a time. Edward distrusts him with reason, hates him with more. 

Once Lee is finished helping him overthrow Gotham’s newest queen, he’ll leave the Narrows be. He’ll leave Edward be, despite how he thinks otherwise. The only way to prove to Edward that he’s changed is to _act_ like it. He waits by the door another minute, then enters to finalize the details with Lee. Better to let them assume he hadn’t overheard Edward’s tantrum. 

***

Edward shouldn’t be here, wasn’t meant to come, but he hadn’t listened. He’d plead his case to Lee, telling her he didn’t trust Oswald, that someone had to keep an eye on him while she ran the show. Strategically, his plan is sound. They have no reason to believe Oswald will follow through on any of his promises to them. Lee had reluctantly agreed, and now Edward shadows his every move. 

They’re both wearing bulletproof vests, but they aren’t plated and won’t stop a round from a sniper. Oswald has fallen victim to Tabitha’s sharpshooting before, keeping his eye on rooftops and windows as they make their approach for the telling glint of a scope. Edward keeps his eyes on Oswald. A gunshot, followed by a smaller explosive sound. Edward knows that to be a supersonic bullet, Oswald knows it to be trouble. They aren’t close enough for it for it to have been one of theirs, and Oswald’s search for the sniper’s perch intensifies. He only has a shotgun on him and couldn’t possibly return fire; however, knowing where the shots were coming from would help immensely. In a city block like this, the sound reverberating off the walls made the source nigh impossible to find by sound alone. 

He turns back to speak to Edward, and that’s when he sees. Tabitha has taken a position across the street from the orphanage, isolating her but allowing for her to cover the premises. And they are completely out in the open. 

“Sniper on the north roof!” Oswald calls. He crouches and pushes Edward so they’ll both be covered from behind. Now they have to worry about Tabby from the back and Sofia’s forces from the front, unless…

“Lee, change of plans. I’m going up to take out Tabitha, take everyone else into the manor,” he says. 

“No way,” Edward interrupts, before Lee has a chance to speak. “We can’t trust him to do this, Lee, it’s suicide. How do we know he doesn’t want to wipe out our forces?”

“Then follow him,” Lee instructs. “It’s all you guys.” Edward’s jaw works a few times, and then he nods, deciding he’s content with the arrangement. 

Oswald leads them to the front of the building, moving quickly from cover to cover and staying out of her line of sight. Edward follows him closely, and Oswald can almost pretend they’re a team. Like how they used to be. Different context of course. They take the fire escape up to the roof, finding none other than Solomon Grundy guarding Tabitha’s back. Edward smiles. He taps Oswald and points down, the two reconvening on the ground floor to formulate a plan.

“I’ll go up the fire escape and get Grundy’s attention,” Edward says. “He’s my friend. Meanwhile, you go up the stairs and onto the roof, wait until Grundy is far enough away, and then take out Tabitha. Sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like a lot could go wrong,” Oswald replies. This would have to go perfectly. 

“Do you have a better plan?” Edward sneers. 

“No, but failure is not an option here,” Oswald says, voice carefully controlled. He won’t let Edward get to him. “My job is to take out Tabitha. I won’t be able to help you if something goes wrong with your distraction.”

“Understood.” Edward climbs the fire escape, and Oswald heads inside. As he suspected, Tabitha was alone, with only Grundy for backup while the rest of Sofia’s forces would be inside. He opens the door to the roof, sees Edward peek over the edge of the roof, looking for him. They make eye contact, and Edward stands, waving at Grundy. Oswald hears him walking, hears Tabitha take another shot at the streets below. Grundy passes the door, and Oswald looks around. Tabitha is still shooting, unconcerned by Grundy’s wandering. He lumbers over to Edward, grabs him by the neck and pulls him onto the roof. Oswald ducks back into the shadows. Oh, this is not ideal. 

“We have a visitor,” Grundy says. He sounds surprisingly coherent, considering what Oswald has heard about him. A bullet to the brain certainly didn’t make one _more_ eloquent. He’d been missing for some time from the Narrows, but it hadn’t occurred to any of them that he had regained his memories, much less reverted to Butch once more. This was _very_ unideal. 

“Grundy, stop it. I can’t breathe. Listen to me, it’s Ed. We’re friends. I’m here to rescue you!” Edward uses both hands to try and pull his hand off, but it doesn’t budge. Oswald waits another moment, maybe Edward will get through to him. Edward is not in immediate danger yet, but if Oswald leaves cover, there’s a hundred percent chance that Tabitha _will_ shoot him. The only question is whether or not the shot will be fatal this time.

“Throw him off the roof,” Tabitha says, almost as an aside. Grundy nods and turns, lifting Edward by the throat like he weighs nothing and walking to the edge. A fall from this height could _kill_ Edward.

 _Damn_. So much for the plan. He charges out from the doorway and slams the butt of his gun into the back of Grundy’s head, felling him. A shot rings out, and for a moment he thinks it didn’t hit him. Edward falls to the roof, clutching at his throat and gasping. Gasping for air. _Breathing_. He’d made it to him in time, that was _all_ that mattered. 

When his relief fades, the pain sets in. He’s been shot before, knows how to handle it. Edward fumbles for his pistol, shoots at something behind Oswald. It’s Tabitha, running for the fire escape. She’s almost over the edge when Oswald thinks he sees an impact to her side, and then she’s gone.

“Good shot,” he tells Edward, breathing through the pain. 

“I was aiming for her head,” he says, holstering the gun. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he lies, smiling genially at Edward. 

“Why did you do that?” Edward asks, rolling Grundy onto his back, “We failed.”

“We took her out of the equation,” Oswald says “That’s what matters. We did not fail.”

“Still, what happened to not being able to help me?” Edward mocks, patting Grundy’s face. “Hey, buddy. It’s Ed. Come on, Grundy. Get up.”

“I was hoping it would give you incentive not to make yourself into a damsel,” Oswald sneers, leaning on the gun for support. 

“Does that make you my knight in shining armor?” Edward says, lip curling like the words are physically painful to him to utter. “Grundy, get _up_!”

“If that was the case, you’d be fawning over _me_ , not the beast I’d slain,” Oswald mutters, feeling a little woozy. He needs to hold it together until Grundy wakes up. Edward won’t leave without him, and Oswald needs to know if he’s still a threat to Edward before he passes out. 

“He’s not a beast! He’s very sweet, and _loyal_ too,” Edward says, slapping at his face now. “Grundy, come _on_.”

“ _Loyal?_ That’s why he tried to strangle you, right? He’s probably more Butch than Grundy. The man always did like to get his hand around your throat.” This seems to give Edward pause for a moment. 

“And you saved me,” he says, quiet. Contemplative. “Again.” It sends a shiver through Oswald. Or perhaps that’s the chill from the blood loss. Grundy stirs. 

“Grundy? That you, buddy? It’s Ed!” Edward trills, happier to see Grundy that he can ever recall Edward acting upon his own arrival—

No. That isn’t true. He’s just avoided thinking about that for some time. With good reason, too. 

“Ed?” Grundy says, looking around. 

“Do you remember what happened? You weren’t yourself, and you hurt me.” Grundy looks panicked, frantically taking in their surroundings. “Calm down, shh, it’s okay. I forgive you. And you didn’t hurt me badly, I’ll get better.”

“Grundy sorry,” he says, patting Edward’s hair. 

“I know you are,” Edward says. Oswald seethes. If only it had been that easy for _him_ to earn Edward’s forgiveness. “It’s okay, you didn’t mean to. Come on, let’s go find Lee. You’ve been missing for a while, she’ll be happy to see you.”

“Pretty lady hit Grundy,” he explains in his odd way. “Grundy remember things. Grundy not like Ed before, but also Ed Grundy friend?”

“Yes, Ed Grundy best friend,” Edward confirms, standing. “We weren’t always, but we are now.” Grundy nods in agreement and lumbers to his feet. 

“Let’s see how the rest of the cavalry is faring, shall we?” Oswald says, limping heavily to the door. He holds it open for them so that he can go last, the better to conceal his injury. The round had gone through, thankfully, and pierced his lower left stomach. He can carry on a little longer. He leans on the railing the entire way down, following the pair slowly. Edward seems to notice his slowed pace and repeatedly lingers, letting him catch up time and time again. 

“You look pale,” he remarks after a while. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Just fine, Ed,” he says, slipping into the nickname. Damn again, he was starting to lose his composure. His brow furrows into something like worry, then he transforms it into a sneer.

“Not that I care,” Edward amends, “I just don’t want you slowing us down.”

“Thank you for clarifying that,” Oswald grits out sarcastically between clenched teeth. “I never would have guessed that you don’t give a damn about me otherwise.” Edward huffs and turns his nose up, sticking close to Grundy’s side as they make their way into the Falcone manor. Oswald pushes himself to keep up. He needs to be the one to end Sofia. 

They pass through the destruction that Lee’s forces had left behind, following the trail of blood to the center. Lee has Sofia bound to a chair, facing away from them. Sofia is attempting to do what she does best: talk her way out of it.

“What now, Lee? You’ve got me, it’s true. Will you send me on a train like Jim? You certainly won’t kill me; that’s just not _you_ , is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Lee says, making eye contact with Oswald over Sofia’s shoulder and tipping her chin up in acknowledgement. “That’s more his area.”

“Hello, _old friend_.” Sofia stiffens in her chair, and Oswald can’t help but smile. He does enjoy making an entrance from time to time, it’s true. 

“I wish I could say that it’s good to see you, Oswald,” Sofia says, “but speaking with you was always more of a chore than pleasantry.”

“You wound me,” Oswald mocks, laying a hand over his heart as he walks around the chair to face her. “That’s funny though, since you’re such an excellent liar. I’d think it would be no problem at all for you to pretend.” 

“Some lies are too foul even for me to stomach,” Sofia spits, leaning forward in her bonds. Oswald doesn’t flinch.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about it for much longer,” Oswald says, maintaining eye contact with Sofia and holding his hand out to the side. 

“Edward, do you mind?” Edward hesitates, momentarily puzzled by the request. Quickly realizing Oswald’s intentions, he approaches him, removing his gun from the holster and placing it in Oswald’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Oswald says, staring unblinkingly into Sofia’s face. He levels the gun at her forehead.

“It was nice knowing you,” he tells her, the biggest lie of all. Satisfied at having gotten the last word, he pulls the trigger. Sofia flops forward in the chair, brain matter spraying out from the back of her head. 

Oswald nods in satisfaction, and then allows himself to follow suit, collapsing onto the floor. 

***

He comes to in a precarious position. He’s alive, so that’s nice. The pain in his stomach is surprisingly nonexistent, and so he takes note of his surroundings. Ah, a hospital. They had all the best opioids, so that explained that. There’s another sensation, though. His right side is very warm, and he wonders if he managed to toss the blanket off his left in his sleep. He looks down, investigating further, only to find his nose in contact with soft, dark hair. 

Oswald inhales, marveling at the fact that the hair beneath his nose smells just like Edward’s preferred products. He’s never been able to pin down the individual scents. To him, the mixture merely equates to _Ed._ Oswald tries to focus, and slowly he comes to the realization that this figure in bed with him does not merely smell like Edward. It _is_ Edward. 

He freezes, terrified of making a wrong move. He might wake him, might knock him over the edge, might lose Edward’s warmth all along his side. Edward’s head rests on the pillow, just to the side of Oswald’s chin. His arms are curled tightly to his chest, and he is as close as he can be to Oswald without laying on his arm and cutting off the circulation. Oswald smiles, noting that his glasses are still on. Edward hadn’t meant to fall asleep beside him. He reaches his left arm across, careful of the I.V. in his arm. Slow and steady, he removes Edward’s glasses, intending to place them somewhere safe. The table to the side is too far to reach, so he resolves to hold them, folding them carefully into his fist and then holding them to his chest. 

Lee enters the room, and Oswald hurriedly holds a finger to his mouth when he sees her begin to open hers. She closes it, smiling knowingly. Lee quietly walks toward the chair at his left side, moving it almost silently so they can comfortably converse. She sits, nodding her chin at Edward.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Lee says, voice a low whisper. “Made me examine his neck in here.”

“Is he alright?” Oswald urgently whispers, casting a glance at him. He can’t see the damage from this angle, but Butch had a punishing grip even before his dip in the Slaughter Swamp. 

“He’s just fine,” Lee assures him. “Asked me to bring him ginger tea with honey, of all things.” Oswald suppresses his reaction, a task which the drugs in his system are making surprisingly more difficult than usual.  

“How long have I been out?” he asks, looking around the room for some way to measure the time. 

“You spent the first night in surgery, nothing too complicated, by the way. You spent the next two days under and intubated. They took you off this morning, and it’s…” she checks her phone, “six thirty-four.”

“Three days,” he mutters, eyes inevitably drifting to Edward.

“I tried to get him to leave, trust me,” Lee says. “Told him he’d stink up the room if he didn’t at least take a shower. He’s been sleeping in this chair for the most part, but I convinced him you’d be alright if he got on the bed.”

“He smells good— _fine_ ,” Oswald stutters. “He smells fine.” Lee smiles that infuriatingly understanding smile again. 

“He still cares, you know,” Lee tells him, looking over Edward.

“I’m starting to catch on to that, yes,” Oswald says, resisting the urge to bury his nose in Edward’s hair again.

“He cried,” Lee adds on. “Like a _baby_.”

“Do you regularly go after him like this?” Oswald asks her. Lee was either the worst friend ever, or the best. 

“When it’s in his best interest,” Lee says. “He can be pretty obstinate.”

“I’m well-aware of that character flaw of his.” He rolls his eyes, and they inevitably land back on Edward. Obstinate, yes, but he was _here_. By his side. Oswald wants to keep him there, keep him forever.

“He’d never admit this to you,” Lee confides, “but he misses you. He’s told me as much. Recently, I’ve been trying to help him come to terms with his feelings for you.”

“What sort of feelings?” Oswald asks her, not daring to hope. 

“The romantic sort,” she says, matter-of-fact. “But I have a feeling he’ll keep on denying them for as long as you do.”

“What are you implying?” Oswald hisses under his breath. 

“I’m implying that you haven’t pushed him off your sick bed yet. I’m implying that you took a bullet for him. I’m implying that you still love him,” Lee says. “I’m also implying that you tell him as much.”

“What good would that do?” Oswald asks. “I don’t believe you anyways.”

“You’d think he’d fall asleep in the same bed as someone he hates?” Lee asks. “Really? Wow, you’re both clueless.”

“Say you’re right. Say Ed has… _feelings_ for me. It doesn’t mean he’ll act on them. He’s ruled by his head, not his heart.”

“You’re wrong on that count as well,” Lee says. “He’s here, isn’t he?” And yes, Edward was undeniably next to him. 

“We’re talking in circles,” Oswald says. “Nothing will change.”

“Have you tried to change it?” Lee points out. She pauses for a moment to let him contemplate this glaring error in his supposition. “Nothing will change unless you do something _differently_.” 

Lee stands, coming around to Edward’s side of the bed. She grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Edward groans and squeezes his eyes shut, and Oswald—quite impossibly—falls in love with him a little bit more. 

“Get up,” Lee commands, no-nonsense. “Oswald’s awake.” Edward starts, jerking up into his elbow and ensnaring Oswald in his gaze. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hello,” Oswald says, automatic. 

“Do you want more tea?” Lee asks.

“I—”

“I’ll be back later with some,” she answers for him, turning and heading out of the room. Edward watches her leave, a pleading expression on his face. He turns back to Oswald and flushes. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says. “I just, um, I didn’t—”

“It’s alright,” Oswald interrupts, before he can try and formulate a lie that will only embarrass them both. “It sounds like you needed the rest, thank you for staying with me.”

“I—uh, you’re welcome,” Edward says, ducking his chin. He pokes his nose with his index finger and then looks around, spotting his glasses in Oswald’s hand.

“Oh, I…” He hands them back to Edward. “It looked uncomfortable, so I took them off. You only slept another ten minutes or so after.”

“Thanks,” Edward says, slipping them on. “I’ll, um, I’ll just get going then.” He shifts on the bed, seeming reluctant.

“I’d like you to stay,” Oswald says. This gives Edward pause, looking Oswald up and down. Edward settles beside him again, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I have to ask… why didn’t you just let Grundy throw me off the roof?” Edward asks, eyes fixed on his hands as he fiddles with them. 

“I think you know,” Oswald says, keeping his tone soft. Edward looks up. 

“You said you wouldn’t help me,” Edward points out. 

“I lied,” Oswald replies, no embellishment. 

“You said you were _fine_ ,” Edward says, something a little like anger in his voice. 

“Would it have mattered to you if I said that I wasn’t?” Oswald counters, raising his brows. 

“Yes!” Edward exclaims, slapping a hand over his mouth, “I mean—”

“Make up your _mind_ , Ed,” Oswald says, laying his hand over his forehead. 

“Oswald… did you think Tabitha would shoot you?”

“What do you mean?” Oswald asks.

“Did you think you could take Grundy down without Tabitha hitting you?” Edward rephrases. Oswald thinks for a moment.

“I went after you with the assumption that Tabitha would probably be able to manage a fatal wound this time around. I suppose I got lucky,” Oswald muses. “Again.”

“So, you knew that—you knew that you could have been killed… and you chose to save me anyways?” Edward asks, confusion marring every aspect of his face. 

“At the time… it didn’t feel like I was choosing anything,” Oswald slowly explains. Edward frowns.

“So you regret your decision,” he concludes. A statement, not a question. He nods, expression gone serene. He believes he’s solved whatever puzzle his questions had been about answering. 

“I don’t,” Oswald answers anyways. “I would choose you, every time.” Edward is making that face again, and it’s taken all this time, but Oswald finally knows what it is. He’s _conflicted_. 

“Oswald, don’t,” he cautions. “Don’t say something you don’t mean.”

“Edward, when he grabbed you, I was terrified,” Oswald tells him. “Take a guess why.”

“You were worried you’d have to deal with Grundy and Tabitha on your own,” Edward states, so sure of himself. _He really is clueless_.

“No. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to you in time,” Oswald says, tentatively cupping Edward’s cheek. 

“Please don’t do this to me,” Edward says, shaking his head. “Not if you don’t mean it.” Oswald ignores Edward’s doubts, ignores his own, and continues. Lee was right, something had to _change_. 

“Know that I mean this,” Oswald begins. “I love you, Edward. I would do _anything_ for you.” Edward gasps, eyes going wide, and Oswald pulls him down. He puckers his lips and presses his mouth to Edward’s, then holds very still, waiting to be denied. Edward breaks away. He removes his hand from Edward’s face, surprised to hear Edward whimper, to feel him press their mouths together again. The kiss is better this way, however Edward has changed it. He runs his hand into Edward’s hair and lets his eyes close, lets himself focus only on kissing Edward. Feeling wetness on his face, he ends the kiss, immediately noting that tears are steadily making their way down Edward’s nose as he hovers over Oswald. 

“Why are you crying?” Oswald whispers, running his thumb over Edward’s cheek. 

“Because I love you, too,” Edward whispers. “Isn’t that terrible?”

“Dreadful,” Oswald agrees. “We should quit while we’re ahead.”

“But we’ve just started,” Edward argues.

“I think we started quite some time ago,” Oswald says, admiring Edward’s face. It’s nice to see the usual disgust absent from it. 

“Then I want a do-over,” Edward decides. 

“I’d like that,” Oswald says. 

“Kiss me?” Edward asks, and he does.

**Author's Note:**

> How much do I wish the show would go here? Very. Please drop a comment <3 Also, I can stop thinking about Thursday!!!


End file.
